Lonesome Song by Elliott Light

Author:Elliott Light [Light, Elliott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-61088-064-0
Publisher: Bancroft Press
Published: 2012-11-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Front Royal borders the South Fork of the Shenandoah River. The river is an anomaly in that it flows from south to north. The town itself is an anomaly because there doesn’t seem to be much of a reason why it’s still there. John Marshall used to live nearby. The entrance to the Skyline Drive, a beautiful road that runs along the top of the Blue Ridge Mountains, is here, but that’s hardly a reason for setting up housekeeping.

In more recent times, the EPA closed the textile plant on the west side of town, removing the source of the town’s smelly air as well as a major source of employment. And yet the town seemed to be thriving. Maybe towns, like murders, don’t always need reasons.

After driving in circles for a few minutes, a gas station attendant directed me to a street a block from the courthouse. I found Jeb’s office above an antique store, his name painted on the window outside. I was reminded of an old movie I saw in prison with Humphrey Bogart, but I couldn’t remember which one. Bogie movies were very popular in prison.

I thought Amy would check out the antique store. Instead, she followed me up the stairs to Jeb’s office. We stepped into a small waiting room. No one was minding the receptionist’s desk. If it weren’t for a nameplate, I would have assumed that no one had sat there for a long time. The desk was clean. No calendar, pictures, yellow stickies. Not even a paper clip. I picked up the nameplate. The brass was shiny, the words “Lydia Thatcher, Paralegal” etched into the metal in script.

The door to Jeb’s office was closed, but I could hear music coming from inside. I knocked lightly, then opened the door. Jeb was at his desk eating. I knocked louder and he looked up. He scrambled to put down his sandwich and shut off the CD player.

“I’m sorry,” he said standing. He wiped his hands on a napkin, and we shook hands. “Jeb Garrett,” he said in a deep voice. “You must be Mr. Harrington. I apologize for not hearing you come in, but my receptionist is out sick.”

Jeb was not your stereotypical lawyer. A few inches over six feet tall, with a long beard and a bear’s body, he was dressed in jeans and plaid shirt. I suspected he snacked often. I introduced Amy as my assistant, which drew a flash of a smile from Jeb. I suspected he’d had a few assistants, too.

His office was washed with light from a long row of windows and three large skylights. Most horizontal surfaces were occupied with books and stacks of papers, but in an ordered sort of way. In response to the warm weather, a door leading to an outside set of stairs had been propped open with a legal dictionary. That was the first time I actually saw a lawyer use one of those.

“I’m a beneficiary of Reilly Heartwood’s will,” I said shaking Jeb’s hand.

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